DVD Roundup: Waking Dreams

by Tony Dayoub

I'll be brief today on the subject of two surrealist DVD releases which debuted in the last couple of weeks. One is based on a cult series of some renown. The other has quickly developed its own small following.

The oft-quoted urban legend in which Jerry Lewis is revered in Europe as a genius while largely dismissed as the goofball half of a venerated comic duo here in the U.S. must have grown more credible with the overseas premiere of Arizona Dream (1991), a movie largely unseen here in America. Beautifully shot by cinematographer Vilko Filac, it is a series of surrealistic non-sequiturs (some hilarious, some insane) episodically strung together to form a bizarre narrative which likely plays better if you're under the influence of an hallucinogen. Magical realism rarely fares well when utilizing distinctly American settings or iconography, and in this way, Arizona Dream is no different. Director Emir Kusturica certainly cares about his characters, a makeshift family of lunatics which in some respects bear a strong resemblance to the cast of Tony Richardson's far better Hotel New Hampshire (1984). But like many directors from abroad, he gets too caught up in his romantic vision of America—its materialism (symbolized by the focus on car culture); and particularly its stars, both future and past (the cast includes Johnny Depp, Faye Dunaway, Lili Taylor, and Vincent Gallo), who are forgiven some extreme self-indulgence in their improvisations—to really sustain a consistent tone, a necessity in films that venture so far out from the mainstream. Its cult audience swears by it, though. And it is admirable that the made-to-order Warner Archive Collection has added this to their March release slate to satisfy the hunger from even a few (new releases from Warner Archive continue apace, at the beginning and middle of every month; the next slate of releases premiere on 4/6).

Coherence is definitely not the problem with The Prisoner (2009). New to DVD, this 6-episode AMC miniseries is an update of an intense 17-episode miniseries from the 1960s in which a former secret agent (Patrick McGoohan from Secret Agent) awakens in the mysterious, dreamlike island Village after he resigns; each episode sets up a mesmerizing cat-and-mouse game where his wardens interrogate him hoping to determine the reasons why he quit. Like in that cult classic, its complicated antihero is only known by a number, Six (Jim Caviezel); his foil, Two (Ian McKellen), probes him in countless ways to find out why he resigned from his position as an intelligence analyst. The cinematography in this is quite an improvement over that of the old series, which contributed to its undeserved reputation of "cheesiness" in the vein of Lost in Space or Star Trek. Where The Prisoner goes wrong is in its neutering of Six, relegating him to the position of reactor rather than actor or prime mover within his own story. Patrick McGoohan's character (maybe because of McGoohan's auteurial sway over the show, often writing, directing and producing) often achieved an uncomfortable stalemate with his captors, hoisting them with their own petard, as it were. But Caviezel's Six is manipulated by Two, his fellow villagers, and even his love interest in ways that minimize the potential for drama in the show. Ultimately, the revelation as to what this Village represents proves as hollow as the updated character of Six. Sporting great production values and performances, it is the screenwriting that is unequal to the task of contemporizing its thought-provoking predecessor. Of interest only to the most hardcore fans of the original.

Bigger Than Life (1956) and Its Influence on Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (1992)

by Tony Dayoub

In his films, Nicholas Ray (Rebel Without a Cause) often contemplates the psychodynamic turbulence hidden behind facades of normalcy. Bigger Than Life, with its focus on the degradation of a patriarch, Ed Avery (James Mason), speaks to the repression which plagues the seemingly typical fifties nuclear family. In this way the movie looks forward to those of another director, David Lynch. Though he has explored similar themes throughout his work, most notably in Blue Velvet (1986), it is in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me where Bigger Than Life's influence is most strongly felt.

A prequel to the landmark television series, Lynch's film is preoccupied for much of its running time with the circumstances behind the murder which had launched the original show. On TV, the causes behind homecoming queen Laura Palmer's murder are found to be supernatural, a demonic possession which absolves her father, prominent attorney Leland (Ray Wise), of much of the culpability for the heinous crime. Fire Walk with Me plays with the notion that Leland, psychotic though he may be, is the one to blame for his own actions, with the demon implied to be more of a symbolic representation of the evil within him, a signifier which only a visionary few can see.

This new, more realistic (the qualifier "more" is necessary since FWWM is still fairly fantastical) prism applied to the TV characters frees Lynch to look at psychosexual reasons behind Laura's murder more clearly. Though genial and outgoing in public, the Palmer family household has the eerie stillness of tension. Sarah (Grace Zabriskie), Leland's wife, is a drug-addled manic depressive who reacts passively to the weird dynamic whenever they sit down for dinner. Laura (Sheryl Lee) leads a double life, high-school student by day, prostitute by night. And Leland is an obsessive compulsive, interrogating Laura about the cleanliness of her fingernails during one frightening incident at supper in a way that suggests a control-hungry despot with more intimate knowledge of his daughter Laura than even she is fully conscious of.

Bigger Than Life's Ed, a repressed schoolteacher, is not motivated by such troubling spiritual torments. What bedevils him is physical, pains that cause him to double over which eventually lead to a terminal diagnosis giving him less than one year. In one spookily lit scene which anticipates the red-curtained room where Leland could coexist with his personal demon, Ed stands behind an x-ray screen literally exposing his core with curtains cast red by a darkroom light. Ed is prescribed a controversial new drug that should ease his pain and may extend his lifespan.

At first, the effects of the drug are beneficial, making him feel "ten feet tall." It also has the unexpected side effect of dispelling the secrets between Ed and his wife—for a little while, at least; his sneaking off a few afternoons a week to moonlight as a taxi dispatch is interpreted by his wife, Lou (Barbara Rush) as Ed having an affair until his hospitalization brings it out into the open. But as Ed starts to overmedicate in order to sustain his growing sense of superiority he descends into a state of megalomania. The underlying problem between Ed and Lou, a lack of communication, returns with a vengeance. As Ed asserts obsessive control over his family; demanding Lou wear expensive dresses they can't afford; starving their son Richie when he can't complete a difficult math tutorial created by Ed; threatening on more than one occasion to leave Lou if she doesn't get with the program; he edges closer to violence and psychosis.

The respective arenas where each drama plays out are virtually identical in their layout, dining room prosceniums adjoining a living room at the foot of stairs in a two-story home. If most of the histrionics take place in that communal room, the actual crimes are perpetrated upstairs. It is upstairs that Ed goes to murder Richie—a horrific act ultimately unconsummated—after a sermon at church makes him re-assess the biblical morality play of Abraham and Isaac in relation to his overblown appraisal of his family's flaws.

Laura is not as fortunate as Richie; frequent nights are spent unsuccessfully resisting her father's sexual violations in her room. Where Ray's antihero Ed self-medicates in an attempt to establish order, Lynch's far more sinister Leland can only impose it by drugging his wife and daughter in order to make them compliant. Leland's remorse eccentrically rears its head at strange moments in which he bursts into tears. This symptom of the depravity which afflicts him is first found in Ray's earlier film when Ed's newfound cure-all causes an hormonal imbalance which makes him burst into tears in the family den, a far more devastating sign of weakness in his present, the fifties, which he unsuccessfully tries to hide from his family.

Ultimately, Bigger Than Life and Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me find different conclusions in their similar investigations. Fire Walk with Me determines that suburbia is an excellent blind which the depraved can use as a refuge. Leland Palmer manipulates his surroundings to form a cover for his actions. Ed Avery's desire for grandiosity, an escape from the dull life in the suburbs, spurs his self-destructive addiction. Bigger Than Life blames the deadening effects of secluding oneself in the suburbs the causal factor in his family's near-destruction.

Bigger Than Life is now available on Criterion Blu-ray and DVD.

Seventies Cinema Revival: Le Mans (1971)

by Tony Dayoub

This is my contribution to the Steve McQueen Blog-a-thon hosted by Jason Bellamy at The Cooler.

What's amazing about Le Mans, a film which was branded as McQueen's Folly even as it was being made, is how well it still holds up today. Racing films always seem so full of cinematic potential, speed being the most attractive factor. Yet with rare exception does it ever pan out. I'm speaking strictly from a cinephilic perspective since I am not qualified to render even the most basic opinion about auto racing or even cars (so this is your opportunity to take me to task in the comments section if you have a stronger argument). But contemporary auto racing films like Days of Thunder (1990), Driven (2001), even Pixar's Cars (2006) seem to place a priority on artificially raising tension through camera placement; if one's point-of-view resides amongst the vehicles jockeying for position, then one should get the feel for what it's like to be a driver in one of these competitions. It's just a bunch of horseshit, if you ask me.

The advantage a film like Le Mans—or its predecessor by a few years, Frankenheimer's Grand Prix (1966)—have over these newer films is they were made by racing enthusiasts, men who not only loved driving as a hobby, but also enjoyed watching and following the sport. Steve McQueen had started dreaming of fashioning an honest paean to the sport in the early sixties. So dedicated was he to conveying the truth of it that there were many abortive starts and broken relationships (including his friendship with John Sturges, the director that made him a star) left in Le Mans' wake. Say what you will about the behind-the-scenes drama, you really get what makes auto racing so alluring to its boosters in some pretty simple, yet eloquent, visual shorthand.

The first half-hour immerses you in the environs of the race track from a multitude of perspectives. From the trailers where the drivers suit up and meditate on the upcoming demands of this 24-hour race to the stands where bored onlookers look at their watches in anticipation, you are there. You're even in the respective minds of McQueen's Michael Delaney and his potential romantic match Lisa Belgeti (Elga Andersen) as they flashback to a fiery crash at last year's race that killed her husband and from which Delaney only barely survived. That's about as much plot as you get before you're plunged into the race proper. The most easily executed yet most exhilirating shot which recurs throughout the race is simply that of the speedway through the windshield from the driver's point-of-view. Another frequent cutaway is from the spectator's angle, a pan from one horizon to the other as cars from Delaney's Team Porsche or the rival Team Ferrari swoosh by. Forget about racing films; none of the running-and-gunning style in contemporary cinema, so often misused by the acolytes-of-Greengrass, can deliver the thrill or immediacy these two examples can without scrificing coherence in the process.

That isn't to say there aren't problems with Le Mans. A studio-imposed plotline eats up a lot of screentime despite its thinness. For once, a star's egotistical sense of rightness should have been heeded. McQueen would have preferred a simple documentary of the endurance race, with him in the driver's seat for one of the cars. For what the film amounts to actually being I can't say I don't agree. But he sacrificed the perfect for the good in order to put his dream up on screen, mirrored metaphorically by his Delaney's winning tactic at the climax of the film. Delaney, determined to beat a longtime rival from Team Ferrari but blocked by another of his team's cars, chooses to get up right behind his teammate's vehicle in order for them to both take advantage of the aerodynamics, ensuring that they take the first two places (even though he comes in second) while leaving his rival behind in third.

McQueen took one for the team in reel life and real life in order for Le Mans to succeed. And though it met with little praise initially, over time it has garnered new fans with an appreciation for the skills it takes to capture the essence of auto racing onscreen.

Rebel Without a Cause (1955): The Synergy Between Nicholas Ray and James Dean

by Tony Dayoub

Rebel Without a Cause is one film of which so much has been written I hardly have anything new to contribute. Whether it's the legendary tales that have sprung up around the cult of its star, James Dean; the mysterious curse (proposed by some) which took its three leads' lives prematurely; or the film's embrace of the explosive Method style of acting; you can find a multitude of essays which pick the film apart from any number of perspectives. Continuing my look at some of the fifties' output of its director, I'd like to look at Nicholas Ray's collaborative relationship with Dean.

Perhaps a lot of the success of Rebel may be due to the untimely death of its lead actor weeks before it opened. True, he wasn't yet a star, but he was surely headed in that direction. His iconic performances in his last two films, both released posthumously, secured his legend. But strictly speaking of his role in Rebel, its importance stems from the realism brought to the performance as encouraged by the progressive Ray. An associate of Elia Kazan and his Group Theatre, Ray met Dean while spending considerable time on Kazan's set for East of Eden (1955), Dean's first star turn. Impressed with the young man's ability to lose himself in the moment, he forged a synergistic partnership which supercharged Dean's performance as Jim Stark in Rebel. Ray was so sure he wanted Dean for the role the name Stark is said to have been a deliberate anagram of the name of the character he played in Eden, Cal Trask. Once production began, Ray also did much to make Dean comfortable on set, as it were.

Ray allowed Dean a lot of freedom in developing his performance. Taking full advantage, Dean was free to arrive on the set late, taking his time in preparing for the emotional demands of a given scene. Dean may have seen a father figure in Ray since his relationship with his own father was so frayed. Ray fostered Dean's rapport with him by inviting him to spend their off-time rehearsing at Ray's own bungalow at the Chateau Marmont. The bungalow's layout was even duplicated in the set design for Stark's living room at Dean's suggestion, after he and Ray blocked out the critical scene where Stark attacks his father (Jim Backus)—to the dismay of his nagging mom—and found a mise en scène that spoke to the dysfunctional family dynamics. Ray's bungalow rehearsals surrounded him with other young actors who subscribed to the same ethos as Dean, actors like Sal Mineo, Nick Adams, Dennis Hopper, Frank Mazzola, and most overlooked, Corey Allen. (Natalie Wood, talented as she was, was a product of the studio system and did not really approach acting like those who employed the Method.)

Allen displays a cocky likeability in the role of Stark's chief antagonist, Buzz. My favorite scene in the film demonstrates the closeness Stark and Buzz feel, a male bonding fueled by their mutual ideas of defiance and mistrust for authority.

Buzz: You know something? I like you.
Stark: Why do we do this?
Buzz: You gotta do something. Don't you?

Ray's interaction with Allen, Dean, and the other young actors informed the film, giving Rebel Without a Cause a vibrancy and immediacy, an honesty seldom found in other youth pictures up until that time. (This may have been motivated by Ray's guilt over his personal deficiencies as a dad, which found their clearest expression in the tenuous relationship he had with son Anthony, who at thirteen had an affair with Ray's ex-wife, actress Gloria Grahame, their romance spurred by their growing mutual disdain for Ray. The two would later marry when Anthony was in his twenties.) Rebel Without a Cause gives us a nihilistic world where adults are relegated to supporting players in the dramatic lives of their children. Kids fall in love, react violently, kill, and die in a concentrated span of time lasting just about one full day. And Ray never presents it from any point-of-view other than that of the teens.

Among the questions which can never be answered are: whether Dean's career might have continued on the same track had he lived; would Ray have continued to contribute to the young actor's success; and more unknowable, how would Dean have influenced the trajectory of Ray's career? What is certain is the influence Rebel Without a Cause has exerted on films today, films like The Breakfast Club (1985), The River's Edge (1987), Gus Van Sant's work (Elephant), and even Larry Clark's (Kids).

Movie Review: Johnny Guitar (1954)

by Tony Dayoub

To say that Johnny Guitar is simply a western is to ignore its quite substantial and not overly implicit meaning. Indeed much of what is going on in Nicholas Ray's film is happening underneath its shallow— and by this, I don't mean banal—surface. But to read Bosley Crowther's New York Times review of May 28, 1954, one would expect this film to be just another horse opera, and a rather weak one at that.

...Joan Crawford plays essentially the role that Van Heflin played in Shane...The only big difference in the character, as plainly rewritten for her, is that now it falls in love with the ex-gunfighter, whom Sterling Hayden here plays.

But this condescension to Miss Crawford and her technically recognized sex does nothing more for the picture than give it some academic aspects of romance. No more femininity comes from her than from the rugged Mr. Heflin in Shane. For the lady, as usual, is as sexless as the lions on the public library steps and as sharp and romantically forbidding as a package of unwrapped razor blades.

Ouch, I think I cut myself with one of Crowther's metaphorical shavers.

To read the rest of review at Decisions at Sundown click here.

Movie Review: In a Lonely Place (1950)

by Tony Dayoub

In a Lonely Place is a coincident film within the careers of Humphrey Bogart (Casablanca), Gloria Grahame (The Bad and the Beautiful), and director Nicholas Ray (Rebel Without a Cause). Despite being an adaptation of a novel by Dorothy B. Hughes, it is the most personal film for each of the trio. For Bogart, the character of alcoholic screenwriter Dixon Steele reveals the real-life vulnerability and mercurial temper that afflicted the actor. In Graham's case, the film highlights some of her insecurities vis-a-vis her marriage to Ray. And as regards Ray, it parallels the slow disintegration of his relationship with Grahame while giving us a glimpse into his early days in Hollywood.

This may explain the atypical unspooling of what is classified by many as a film noir. And it is one, in the sense that its protagonist, lonely screenwriter Dixon Steele, is an antihero with a self-defeating flaw, an uncontrollable temper; Burnett Guffey's expressionistic cinematography denotes the shadowy, claustrophobic world Steele finds himself in as the police circle about him, questioning whether he murdered a hatcheck girl last seen leaving his apartment; a blunt-speaking platinum blonde, struggling actress Laurel Gray, dwells in the same complex as Steele and provides him his alibi, informing the cops of the timing of the murdered girl's early exit from Steele's abode and his decision to remain. The crucial point at which this typical-sounding noir turns is about forty minutes in.

Up until then, we have been seeing the events unfold from the point-of-view of Bogart's Dix Steele. We've sat in the front seat of his vehicle as he drives through Beverly Hills while the opening credits roll. We have been present at one near-altercation between Steele and the husband of a woman he flirts with at a stoplight, as well as one flat-out bar fight at his favorite restaurant, Paul's, after Dix defends Charlie Waterman, a drunk, washed up actor friend of his. We are close enough to Dix to hear his conversation with an ex-flame about his misogynistic streak:

Frances: Do you look down on all women or just the ones you know?
Dix: I was pretty nice to you.
Frances: No, not to me. But you were pretty nice.

Ray is even canny enough to place us squarely in Dix's head for a few p.o.v. shots in his apartment, as Mildred, the girl to be found dead later, synopsizes a story the writer plans to adapt for his next movie looking straight into the camera, the viewer as Dix. His initial plan to seduce the naive, starry-eyed girl in his flat literally dissolves in our own mind as we become privy to the way he now views her: shrill, grating, and unworldly. We've met Grahame's Laurel already as Dix walked into their shared courtyard with young Mildred, and now we see her again, through his window, standing on the balcony overlooking his apartment as he escorts Mildred out. Cut to morning when Dix is woken up by his old friend, Detective Brub Nicolai (Frank Lovejoy) and taken downtown for questioning. The point is we see what Dix sees, with rare exception. When he sleeps, the film just skips forward. But that move forward elides past the crucial moment in question when Steele may have murdered poor Mildred.

Luckily, Steele remembers Laurel on her balcony, and the cops bring her downtown to backup his alibi. This meeting sparks a mutual romantic interest between the two, and after some trepidation on the part of Laurel, a full-blown relationship. It is here that, as Danny Peary states in his Guide for the Film Fanatic, "an interesting thing happens: Grahame becomes the main character." Now, we are with Laurel when she is called back to the police station for a follow-up interview. We are with her when a masseuse warns her that Steele used to beat up another woman she used to work on, the one we saw earlier at Paul's, Frances. We are with her at a beach party with Nicolai and his wife, when Steele flies into a rage after discovering the cops called Laurel down to the station again and he takes off in his car, almost leaving her behind. It is from her point-of-view in the car that we see Steele beat a young man nearly to death after he cuts Steele off in traffic and calls him a "blind, knuckleheaded squirrel." As Laurel becomes more and more confused whether Steele is capable of having murdered Mildred, Ray spends less and less time with Dix.

But he never abandons him. There are many indications that for Ray this was a personal story, and that he sympathized with the volatile Dix Steele. Ray always follows Dix's bouts of rage with private moments in which the remorseful writer performs an act of contrition, from sending flowers to the dead girl's funeral to wiring monetary compensation to the bruised road rage survivor, courtesy of "Joe Squirrel." As Roger Ebert points out in his own review of the film,

Life on the set was obviously fraught with emotional hazards. Ray had modeled the movie's apartment complex on an apartment he once occupied at Villa Primavera in West Hollywood. When he moved out on Grahame, I learn from critic J. Hoberman, Ray actually moved onto the set and started sleeping there.

For both of its leads, the film resonated strongly. Ebert points out that the restaurant Paul's is "inspired by Bogart's own hangout, Romanoff's," and he requested the part of Waterman be played by old friend Robert Warwick. Meanwhile, Grahame's alienation with Steele in the film translated to a distancing from husband Ray during the production. As Kim Morgan describes in her lovely video essay (edited by Matt Zoller Seitz),

Love or lust often motivates action in noir, particularly via a femme fatale (as in Double Indemnity or Out of the Past). But it also holds up a mirror to myriad themes, largely existential, that hang over characters with profound malaise. Ray approaches the torments of Camus and Sartre with In a Lonely Place (1950) showing, not only the delicacy of true love, but the delicacy of creativity, violence, trust, and a person's own position in an often ugly, alienating world and the inner nausea it creates.

Perhaps the depth of resentment stirred up by the film's depiction of a love gone wrong had some influence on the demise of Ray and Grahame's marriage, which ended on a rather lurid note. Dix and Laurel are finally undone by a near fatal flare-up of his rage just as he's found innocent of the murder. But make no mistake, despite the tragedy of doomed romance that looms over much of the movie, especially in Laurel's half of the film, In a Lonely Place's twisted web of mistrust, violence, and sexuality place it firmly within the noir tradition.

Peter Graves

by Tony Dayoub

Though physically imposing, Peter Aurness always seemed more approachable than his more famous brother, TV's Gunsmoke, James Arness. Not even his stage name, Graves, could dispel the man's affability. His mellifluous voice—often utilized for narration in documentaries like the series Biography—probably helped very much in that regard. All indications were that he was as classy a gentleman in life as he was on the screen. Not many actors stay married to the same woman for close to 60 years as Graves did.

He was best known, of course, for the role of Jim Phelps, the leader of the Impossible Missions Force on Mission: Impossible. It's almost incredible that he didn't join the series until a near abortive first season with Steven Hill (Law & Order) as the lead. Six years and 143 episodes later, he became as synonymous with the show as his future Mission costar, Leonard Nimoy, did with Star Trek. The introduction to the taped mission briefings his character would receive clandestinely became one of television's most famous catchphrases, "Good morning, Mr. Phelps."

On film, he made at least three notable appearances. He played the handsome and helpful Price, a prisoner of war who secretly spies for his Nazi brethren in Billy Wilder's Stalag 17 (1953). In Charles Laughton's The Night of the Hunter (1955), he played the pivotal role of Ben Harper, a convict executed for murdering during the course of a robbery. His cellmate, played by a terrifying Robert Mitchum, suspects he can find the stolen money if he insinuates himself into the dead man's family. Both roles were an example of casting against the heroic type Graves would be most immediately qualified to play.

Having been typecast by his role of Phelps led him to try his luck at comedy, most memorably playing the role of the perverted pilot Captain Clarence Oveur in Airplane!, who gave us this famous exchange:

Roger Murdock: We have clearance, Clarence.
Captain Oveur: Roger, Roger. What's our vector, Victor?
Tower: Tower's radio clearance, over!
Captain Oveur: That's Clarence Oveur. Over.

He died today at the age of 83.

Recommended Films - Stalag 17, The Night of the Hunter, Airplane!

Recommended Television - Mission: Impossible

The Pacific: An Open Thread

by Tony Dayoub

HBO's The Pacific premieres tonight. It's an exciting prospect for fans of Band of Brothers (2001). I missed that one during its original run. It wasn't until one of its frequent marathon runs on the History Channel last year that I caught a glimpse. I finally finished the remainder of the series last week during HBO's encore run leading up to tonight's premiere.

Alan Sepinwall, TV critic for the New Jersey Star-Ledger (and one of my favorite daily reads for YEARS over at his blog, What's Alan Watching?), spoke to writer Bruce McKenna about the show on Friday:

Not long after HBO’s Band of Brothers debuted in 2001, Band writer Bruce McKenna was sharing a beer with Bill Guarnere, one of the World War II veterans whose story was depicted in the landmark miniseries. McKenna told the former paratrooper that he couldn’t believe what Guarnere and his Easy Company mates went through as they made their way across Europe.

"Bill said, ‘You think we had it rough? You should talk to those boys who served in the Pacific,’" McKenna recalls.

That quote was at one point going to lead off The Pacific, a Band companion miniseries nearly a decade in the making. And it remains the guiding principal followed by McKenna, Tom Hanks, Steven Spielberg and the rest of the team behind the new $250 million production.

"This is Band of Brothers goes to hell," says McKenna.

I don't plan on making the same mistake twice. The Pacific is definitly on the program tonight. Do any readers plan on watching it? Would you be interested in reviews of each episode?

Let me know, and consider this an open thread for discussion about Band of Brothers or The Pacific.

Movie Review: Green Zone

by Tony Dayoub

Nothing gets my back up more than seeing a movie oversimplify the facts to promote a political agenda. Green Zone, the latest by the Bourne team of director Paul Greengrass (United 93) and Matt Damon (Invictus), does just that. It is the most simple-minded example of progressive propaganda to come out from Hollywood since The Deer Hunter (1979).

Green Zone reduces the pivotal inciting incident for the prolonged Iraq War to the fate of an enemy general who knows too much about the truth behind Saddam Hussein's WMD program. Army Chief Roy Miller (Damon) is drawn into finding the general by a CIA agent (Brendan Gleeson) after repeatedly failing to find any WMDs on the ground. Meanwhile, Miller is trying to keep a reporter (Amy Ryan) and a mercenary (Jason Isaacs) at bay. The efforts by an unctuous Pentagon official (Greg Kinnear) to shut the general up in order to deliberately mislead the American public ironically follows the same pattern the movie does in perpetrating its own plan of winning hearts and minds—dress it up with smoke and mirrors, but keep the program simple.

Greengrass executes some pretty fine setpieces. I've never been one of those critical of his particular brand of stunt stylization. His fast-paced crosscutting and shaky handheld camerawork have proven to be a noxious influence on a new generation of directors who don't have his grasp of cinematic choreography, often leading to muddled, confusing scenes. But Greengrass himself always seems to come through, and in Green Zone he does it amazingly well in some low-light situations.

But it's all done in service to a lousy script by Brian Helgeland, full of clumsy platitudes. I paraphrase: one Iraqi character tells Miller, "You do not make decisions for our country." Another, the conflicted general, says, "You think Washington is going to really want to hear the truth?" And Damon's Miller is a self-righteous do-gooder who decides to go off the grid in an effort to uncover the truth, something which seems so antithetical to this by-the-book military operative that it is laughable.

As many of you know, my own political leanings are considerably left of center. So you would think I'd be tolerant if a film plays towards my politics. But I prefer arguments to be made with some credibility. Simply making loaded pronouncements with authority is not sufficient. Some would say that's how we got into this Iraq quagmire in the first place. In fact, this film says so. Even Greengrass' expert escalation of tension over the course of the film is not involving enough to disguise the bias of this interpretation of the events leading up to Iraq's insurgency. It's like the only source material they used was Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004). By the time we get to a scene where Miller meets Gleeson's CIA operative poolside at Saddam's palace with Intelligence and Pentagon officials relaxing in tanktops and bikinis while carrying AK-47s, it really gets absurd.

It's also difficult to ignore the agitprop aspect to the marketing of Green Zone. Three different times I tuned into MSNBC today, as we liberals are usually wont to do. And all three times, I saw ads running for Green Zone, surprising because of the usual dearth of movie commercials on "the place for politics." Universal owns MSNBC, a left-leaning channel. Universal is also the studio behind Green Zone. You figure it out.

Don't get me wrong, it's not Green Zone's assertions that I have a problem with. It's the thinly veiled, smug, self-congratulatory way it goes about promoting them that I find revolting.

Green Zone opens nationwide Friday, March 12th.

The Best Films of the 00s

by Tony Dayoub

Oscar night has arrived. And with the Oscar recipients this year being all but a foregone conclusion, I post an alternative to the conversation happening throughout the rest of the film blogosphere.

Here are the best films of the 00s...

1. (tie) The New World (2005)

All the children of the king were beautiful, but she, the youngest, was so exceedingly so that the sun himself—though he saw her often—was surprised whenever she came out into his presence. Her father had a dozen wives, a hundred children, but she was his favorite. She exceeded the rest not only in feature and proportion, but in wit and spirit too. All loved her.

1. (tie) There Will Be Blood (2007)

I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people.

2. In the Mood for Love (2000)

In the old days, if someone had a secret they didn't want to share, you know what they did? ...They went up a mountain, found a tree, carved a hole in it, and whispered the secret into the hole. Then they covered it with mud and left the secret there forever.

3. Zodiac (2007)

I am not the Zodiac. And if I were, I certainly wouldn't tell you.

4. Das weisse band (The White Ribbon) (2009)

White, as you all know, is the color of innocence.

5. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)

"Subject to the requirements of the service."

6. Miami Vice (2006)

... There is undercover, and then there is "Which way is up?"

7. 25th Hour (2002)

...You're a New Yorker. That won't ever change. You've got New York in your bones. Spend the rest of your life out west, but you're still a New Yorker... You make a new life for yourself, and you live it. You hear me? You live your life the way it should have been. But maybe... this is dangerous, but maybe after a few years you send word to Naturelle. You get yourself a new family, and you raise them right. You hear me? Give them a good life, Monty.

8. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

Well, technically speaking, the operation is brain damage, but it's on a par with a night of heavy drinking. Nothing you'll miss.

9. Inglourious Basterds (2009)

You probably heard we ain't in the prisoner-takin' business. We in the killin' Nazi business. And cousin, business is a-boomin'.

10. Children of Men (2006)

As the sound of the playgrounds faded, the despair set in. Very odd, what happens in a world without children's voices.

Performers of the 00s: Honored for their consistent quality in an extraordinary number of films this decade, regardless of the individual success of each movie.

Cate Blanchett - The Man Who Cried, The Gift, Bandits, The Fellowship of the Ring, Charlotte Gray, The Shipping News, Heaven, The Two Towers, Veronica Guerin, Coffee and Cigarettes, The Missing, The Return of the King, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Aviator, Stories of Lost Souls, Little Fish, Babel, The Good German, Notes on a Scandal, Hot Fuzz, I'm Not There, Elizabeth: The Golden Age, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Ponyo, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Mark Ruffalo - You Can Count on Me, Committed, Life/Drawing, The Last Castle, XX/XY, Windtalkers, My Life Without Me, View from the Top, In the Cut, We Don't Live Here Anymore, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 13 Going on 30, Collateral, Just Like Heaven, Rumor Has It, All the King's Men, Zodiac, Reservation Road, Blindness, The Brothers Bloom, What Doesn't Kill You, Where the Wild Things Are

Additional for Out 1 Film Journal:

James Hansen of Out 1 Film Journal solicited submissions (for movies, directors, and individual performances) from a number of film writers for their Best Movies of the 2000s post. I suggested all of the movies listed at the top, but since he was lookin for 13, here are two additional. The directors and performances follow.

A Christmas Tale (2008)
I ♥ Huckabees (2004)

Directors:
-Paul Thomas Anderson (Punch-Drunk Love, There Will Be Blood) for allowing the madmen—actors—to run the asylum.
-Charlie Kaufman (Synecdoche, New York) for being an auteur before he was a director.
-Michael Mann (Ali, Collateral, Miami Vice, Public Enemies) for mastering the digital camera as he ventures further into "pure" cinema.
-Julian Schnabel (Before Night Falls, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Lou Reed's Berlin) for following his muse, and making lyricism a priority in cinema.
-Steven Soderbergh (Erin Brockovich, Traffic, the Ocean's Eleven series, Full Frontal, Solaris, Eros (segment: "Equilibrium"), Bubble, The Good German, Che, The Girlfriend Experience, The Informant!) for his overwhelming output, consistent in both quality and innovation.

Individual Performances:

Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood
Benicio Del Toro, Che
Laura Dern, Inland Empire
Mélanie Laurent, Inglourious Basterds
Meryl Streep, Doubt

For earlier postings of this series, including the best films by individual year, click here.

The Best Films of the 00s: 2009

by Tony Dayoub

2009 proved surprisingly robust in its cinematic offerings. It yielded two films which you'll see tomorrow when I wrap this up with my look at the Best of the Decade. In the meantime, this should prove to be a highly debatable list, as these lists often are when they are created so soon before any serious critical consensus has been achieved. Some reminders: I cannot judge movies I haven't seen, so if you feel a film you like was unjustly left out, it might be that I haven't seen it; also, I've included a link back to the original review for each film.

And now, in alphabetical order, the best films of 2009...

The Best Films of the 00s: 2008

by Tony Dayoub

This is a somewhat reworked repost of my 2008 end-of-year wrap-up, originally published on 1/23/09. The main difference is my inclusion of Üç Maymun (Three Monkeys) on the list instead of as an honorable mention. It replaces a television show (In Treatment) I included on the original list; not because I regret the original decision to include it, but because this series is really dedicated to discussing the decade's cinematic offerings.

I started blogging in 2008 so you should see a marked difference in my selection of films. This isn't by design, necessarily. 2008 just afforded me the opportunity to watch more movies through press screenings, screeners, and invitations to film festivals, now giving me additional access I wouldn't normally get in Atlanta. Some reminders: I cannot judge movies I haven't seen, so if you feel a film you like was unjustly left out, it might be that I haven't seen it; also, if I already wrote a review for it, I'll include a link back to the original review.

And now, in alphabetical order, the best films of 2008...

Che (Roadshow Edition), director Steven Soderbergh - Review here. A gutsy attempt to shed light on a polarizing figure, Che is actually two movies that must be seen together. The first part, The Argentine, is surprisingly the more marketable, despite being the one with greater potential for controversy. Shot like a traditional war movie, it depicts Guevara as a hero of Cuba's revolution. The second part, Guerilla, is the more damning, and difficult, movie. Here, Guevara is a remote and weak character, stubbornly pursuing his lost cause. Together, they give us an understanding of why he is seen as both hero and monster by so many.

Un conte de Noël (A Christmas Tale), dir. Arnaud Desplechin - Reviews here and here. Desplechin's look at family dynamics is the best film I saw this year. And even though the members of this movie's family share some disdain for each other, one gets the feeling that each loves each other in a way one could understand only when one is part of such a group. Both bitter and warm.

Elegy, dir. Isabel Coixet - Review here. This is the first time I think I ever saw a sign of the real Ben Kingsley in a performance. And it was truly fascinating to watch. The story of a womanizer and his greatest character flaws—insecurity and possessiveness—is also quite illuminating.

The Fall, dir. Tarsem Singh - Review here. Simply the most visually stunning film I've seen since Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut.

Gran Torino, dir. Clint Eastwood - Review here. From a response I wrote to a reader's criticism at Some Came Running:

Allow me to reference "The Searchers" in order to make another point, and I preface this by asserting that I am in no way elevating "Gran Torino" to the same class as that classic film. In Ford's film, John Wayne's Ethan Edwards is the protagonist, is a racist, frequently uses epithets against the Native Americans in the film, yet still musters the tolerance to work with Jeff Hunter's Martin - a half-Native American - to pursue his quarry. For about 115 minutes of its running time (and years, in the film), Edwards is committed to killing his own niece (Natalie Wood) simply for being presumably defiled by the Native Americans who kidnapped her. And then in the last few minutes, Martin convinces Edwards to let her live. Happy ending, save for Edwards extricating himself from the life he can't be a part of due to his inherent and unresolved feelings for the Native Americans.

The plot remarkably tracks similarly with "Gran Torino". So why can we give Ford a pass for the "bait-and-switch" at the end of "The Searchers"? Or the comic relief that Hank Worden's Mose so jarringly injects into every scene he's in? And why can we be so cavalier towards Ethan Edwards' own racism yet admire his heroism?

Is it because the fact that Ford's film is a Western it adds another layer of distance or archetypal reduction to the events in "The Searchers"? Had "Gran Torino" been a Western with Native Americans replacing the Hmong would we even be having this conversation?

I found Eastwood to be unusually direct and economical in his storytelling, a relative rarity in his recent films. And I applaud the fact that he trusts us to do the heavy lifting, rather than get anymore on-the-nose than the movie is already accused of being.

Shotgun Stories, dir. Jeff Nichols - Review here. Nothing much happens in it... externally. But the internal is what's interesting in this one, and Michael Shannon (Revolutionary Road) acutely conveys so much of the devastation which a man can cause by abandoning one family to start another.

The Strangers, dir. Bryan Bertino - Review here. It is a truly terrifying film in which the camera forces you to be an unwilling accomplice. Not innovative per se, but that perspective has been sorely missed in this age of "torture porn". I'm gratified to see such a style make a comeback.

Synecdoche, New York, dir. Charlie Kaufman - Review here. This mindbending indie pushes the limits of how far imagination can take you on a limited budget when a writer like Kaufman is given the keys to the car.

Üç Maymun (Three Monkeys), dir. Nuri Bilge Ceylan - Review here. Quite an Antonioni send-up, Üç Maymun even has its own Monica Vitti in female lead Hatice Aslan. Her performance is the linchpin around which this exceedingly atmospheric—and near silent—neo-noir from Turkey is hung on.

Wall·E, dir. Andrew Stanton - An unusually resonant film, it is an even more amazing feat once one remembers that the main characters are computer generated robots.

Honorable Mention: Burn After Reading, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Happy-Go-Lucky, Iron Man, Rambo, Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired, Waltz with Bashir, The Wrestler

For more on the Best of 2008:

Best of 2008: Animated Features
Best of 2008: Performances and Creative Achievements
Best of 2008: Oscar Nominations Open Thread

For more of this ongoing series on the Best Films of the 00s, click here.